


The Life and Lovers of Geralt of Rivia

by themasterwaifu



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22324429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themasterwaifu/pseuds/themasterwaifu
Summary: A collection of short stories based around Geralt's relationships (and misadventures) with Jaskier and Yennefer. Smut in almost every chapter. See first chapter's author's notes for more info. Cross posted on FF.net
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 3
Kudos: 103





	1. Musical Interlude

_AN: so I watched The Witcher on Netflix and I fell in love. This story is a series of short stories, completely out of order, posted as I write them. Maybe when I'm done, I'll reupload everything in chronological order. Idk._

_Big thing about this, all I know about The Witcher is what I've seen, I haven't played a game or read a book. I'm also an experienced Dungeon Master, so I'm really going to be using more of a DND skin on this to pull in certain concepts and ideas that could make this really really cool. I hope you all enjoy!_

* * *

Summary: Jaskier is always annoying... Except when he's talking about music.

* * *

They'd been on the road for weeks and it was starting to get on everyone's nerves. Jaskier was so grumpy and irritable that his roast game was on point, so much so that he'd been threatened to be disemboweled and turned into a toad. He was silent after that. Geralt was starting to smell worse than Roach and it was a stench that neither companion could abide for much longer. While Yennefer now looked the most put together of the three, when she'd awoken that morning she was a complete mess. Even with her magic tent with all its comforts, after 3 weeks it began to feel distinctly fake. That's why, even though it was only early afternoon, they stopped at the very first tavern they found. They hadn't even bothered to check the name of it or anything really beyond the stable for Roach before they barged in, Geralt requesting food and drink, Yennefer piping up that a bath was needed as well.

It was a this point that Jaskier usually added his own requests of the barkeep, but he was unusually silent. Both Witcher and witch turned to look at what had made this usually talkative boyfriend so quiet. He was staring at a grande piano set off the side, covered in dust but still beautiful. Even from across the tavern, they could see the wood was intricately carved and that it had been well cared for. They couldn't imagine what had caused such an expensive instrument to be left to rot, but Jaskier was staring at it like it was his new girlfriend.

"Barkeep!" he cried, whipping around with stars in his eyes.

"Lazlo!" the barkeep, Lazlo, corrected him.

"Is this The Blue Boar Inn?" Jaskier asked, running up to the bar and slamming his hands down upon it.

"Aye, tis," Lazlo said with a sigh. "And what of it?"

"Then _that_ is the famous Concert Grand Piano made by Master Shuberette!" Jaskier explained, all but bouncing in excitement now.

"How is a piano famous?" Geralt asked, but he was pointedly ignored.

"Ye know yer history," Lazlo mused, impressed by Jaskier's knowledge and smiled. "Aye tis the very same."

This answer seemed to double Jaskier's excitement and when he leaned over the bar, his feet were 6 inches off the ground. "May I play it?!"

"You can play piano?" Yennefer asked, but she too was ignored.

"Ah I would let ye, son, but it broke a few years back," Lazlo explained. Jaskier deflated only a fraction, and only for a second, and it made Geralt and Yennefer take a step back. "See, me wife was the one what always maintained it, but she passed away about, oh must be 7 years ago now. She dinnae get to teach our daughter and my hands are not delicate enough for that work. When it broke, no one here could-"

"I CAN FIX IT!" Jaskier shouted so loudly and forcefully that even the barkeep was blown away. "Please may it fix it and play it PLEASE."

"Lad if ye can fix it, I shall give ye yer room tonight for free," Lazlo said with a nod. "It used to bring in so many people… And my wife loved that thing."

Jaskier had stopped listening some time ago, and had begun rummaging through his pack instead. He pulled out a large case, a case that Geralt had seen him pull out a dozen times. It held the tools that he used to fix his lute on the road, but Geralt had always noticed there were far too many tools for just the lute. Now Jaskier was removing those that Geralt had always wondered about and made a beeline for the piano. Yennefer was right behind him, curious, and Geralt had to get a beer before he too followed his boyfriend and girlfriend.

Gently, Jaskier sat down on the bench and blew away from dust before, flipping up the top to the keys. He sucked in a wondered breath and ran his fingers over them reverently. Geralt noticed the way he touched that piano was the way the bard touched him sometimes, on quieter, more intimate nights when fires were low and blood alcohol content high. He noticed, and saw that Yennefer sensed it too, a hum of magic woven into the wood. She traced a delicate finger over one of the carvings and whispered an incantation under her breath. The air swirled around the piano in seconds the dust was all gone from it.

"Thank you, that makes my job so much easier," Jaskier whispered. There was something about this space that made you not want to disturb it. "Now I don't have to worry about getting filthy."

"What's wrong with her?" Yennefer asked, her voice also hushed as she knelt down next to where he sat.

"I can only imagine…" he looked up towards Lazlo and shouted, "Barkeep!"

"Lazlo!" Lazlo shouted back.

"Do you remember the last song played on this?" Jaskier asked, his fingers poised over the keys.

"Oh I donnae remember the name," Lazlo said with a grunt. "But it went something like this…" Lazlo started to hum a tune that was both familiar and foreign to Geralt, but Jaskier seemed to know it in the first few bars.

The bard nodded, cracking his fingers and rolling out his neck. "Brace yourselves, this won't be pretty."

And he began to play. As promised, it wasn't pretty, every note was sour and wrong, but Geralt was able to see in the playing a skill that he didn't know Jaskier capable of. The song had a good tempo, getting faster and faster and more intense the more he played, until finally he hit what seemed the crescendo of the song and stopped.

"You poor thing, no wonder you broke," Jaskier whispered, patting the top of the piano in comfort.

"What's wrong with it?" Geralt asked, now intrigued.

"Besides it being horribly out of tune, there are 12 broken keys," Jaskier said, going to open the lid of the piano. Geralt was next to it in a second, his hand pressed down on the lid and not letting it move. Jaskier just arched his brow in question. Geralt couldn't seem to get his question out, but Yennefer understood.

"How do you know all of this, Jaskier?" she asked gently, putting a steady pressure on Geralt's arm to make him move it. He did, eventually. "I think you owe us an explanation."

"I do, and you'll get it, but first let me inquire about the strings." Jaskier pushed past them and towards the barkeep.

With a deep sigh, Geralt dropped back down into his seat and drained his beer. Yennefer just gave a small chuckle and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She was eager to hear Jaskier's story, and not just because he was a master storyteller. Since the three had started traveling together and engaged in this three way relationship, they hadn't bothered to learn much about each other's past. They had come to a mutual, yet silent, agreement that it didn't matter. After all, Yennefer and Geralt had both been alive far longer than Jaskier and while they had storied pasts, they were boring and long and hardly mattered, at least to them. They lived in the moment. But Jaskier, with his life so fleeting and short, Yennefer found his tales to be more thrilling than their own.

After an animated discussion with Lazlo, Jaskier returned to the table with three mugs of beer and a large plate of bread, meats, and cheeses. He placed everything in the middle of the table and sat between his greatest love into the world and his love's girlfriend.

"I attended the Bard's College in my youth," Jaskier started, making Yennefer choke on her beer.

" _The_ Bard's College? I heard it was harder to get in there than Aretuza or Ban Ard," she coughed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She'd picked up some nasty habits from these two men.

"Oh it was. Terribly difficult. I failed all four exams spectacularly," Jaskier said with a nod. "But I have perfect pitch and they wanted to cultivate that. My mum was smart, she had me apply when I was still a boy into their long term programe, so I spent years learning every instrument they put into my hands. So many, in fact, that I learned how to repair them all too. I got so good at it I could just listen to it and figure out what was wrong. My classmates called me a Master Diagnostician… I like the piano best. Much wider range of sound capable on it, but the lute is the easiest to travel with and doesn't need a lot of maintenance. I'm so lazy."

"We know," they answered so quickly and in unison that Jaskier looked offended.

"Hey now!" The bard sighed deeply, looking longingly at the piano and smiled a bit. "Every bard that went through that college learned of this piano. Master Shuberette was in love with a queen who told him that if he wrote her the most beautiful song in the world, that she would leave her king and marry him. But he couldn't find an instrument good enough to play it on. So he built this. It took him two whole decades to get it just right. He even enlisted a sorceress to help him carve the wood so it was perfect."

"Did he win over the queen?" Yennefer asked, leaning her head on her hand as she was enthralled in the tale. Geralt watched the love in her eyes and hid a smile behind his beer.

"He brought the piano to court and played his ballad for the queen," Jaskier continued. "Everyone in the room fell in love with the song, and with him. Everyone but the queen. For so much time had passed that Master Shueberette was no longer young and handsome. He'd grown old and wrinkled and the queen no longer wanted him. She banished him and his great piano from her land. But a lord at the banquet took pity on him and brought him the piano here. This place was built just for that instrument, so anyone who wanted could come and listen and enjoy. It was a palace at one point. The lord's sister fell in love with him and they lived here with their children and their children's children. A fire tore through here about 100 years later that left only what you see now. The family alive then turned it into the Blue Boar Inn. And the rest, as they say, is history."

Jaskier hadn't even closed his mouth before Geralt barked out, "Sounds like a load of bollocks."

"Geralt!" Yennefer reprimanded, her boyfriend's outburst startling her back to reality. "That was rude."

"What? 'A lord' 'a queen' 'some land', no true epic tale is so vague," Geralt said with a shrug. "So it's a load of bollocks."

This time the offense on Jaskier's face wasn't his usual feigned, over-the-top, offense. This was a true, deep hurt that made Geralt swallow.

"If you must know, the Queen was named Juletta, the lord was the first Lord Dunstill, and the land was what is today Cintra," Jaskier ground out between gritten teeth as he stood sharply and left the table and stormed out of the inn.

When the front door slammed shut, Yennefer turned on Geralt with such fury that his hand instinctively went for his sword, which was thankfully packed away.

"You're a brute and a beast, Geralt of Rivia," Yennefer snarled, making Geralt just scoff.

"I thought that's what you liked about me," he mused with a small smirk.

"Not this time," she said, her ferocity turning to disappointment as she stood and followed after the bard, leaving Geralt alone with three nearly full beers.

* * *

When Jaskier and Yennefer returned, Geralt was at the bottom of his fifth beer. The two brunettes ignored him, and instead turned their focus on the piano. Jaskier had gone outside to wait for the local smith to bring the spare piano wires, and now armed with wires and tools he was ready to begin his work. They lifted up the lid of the piano and hurt a hoarse 'fuck' from right behind them. Geralt had come to look over their shoulders and realized that he'd never hear the end of this.

There were exactly 12 broken wires.

"Go sit down, darling," Yennefer urged, gently shoving Geralt back into his chair. She turned to Jaskier with a smile and saw him taking off his doublet. "Tell me what I can do to help."

With a smile, Jaskier gestured to the pile of tools and wires as he set the doublet aside and rolled up the sleeves of his shift. "Hand me things when I ask for them."

With a nod, the two set to work on the piano. They started by detangling all the cruddy wires inside and removing them, a process that took so long by the time the last wire came out it was almost sundown. Then he had to restring each key, which kept him going on top of and underneath the piano. The process was riddled with colorful swear words and laughter from them both.

Jaskier didn't stop talking the entire time. Usually that was the height of annoyance for Geralt, but not this time. Whenever Jaskier started yammering, he was talking about everything and nothing. This time he spoke only of the technicality of the instrument he was working on. He spoke animatedly about the history of it, how the sound works, why each part is the way it is. Any question that Yennefer had he was able to answer, and did so with the calm grace of a master that knew his material. For the first time, Geralt didn't feel like everything coming out of Jaskier's mouth was horse shit. This man was intelligent in a way that Geralt and Yennefer were't. He wasn't afraid to share his knowledge either, in fact he seemed more than delighted to finally show his two lovers what he was good at. Enthralled, Geralt watched as Jaskier's hands wove the wires in and out until he was lulled into a gentle sleep.

Yennefer knew the second Geralt had passed out and took the brief opportunity. She turned to Jaskier, who was tying off another wire and asked, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Didn't you just?" Jaskier asked back with a smirk as he passed her his wrench and took another bundle of cable. At Yennefer's frown, he chuckled. "Of course, darling. Ask away."

"Do you have elven blood in you?" She was never one to beat around the bush, and Jaskier was well used to her bluntness by now. In fact, the question made him laugh as he dove into the piano again.

"My mum thought we did," he replied, his voice echoing in the wood. "Apparently my great-grandfather was twisted and deformed 'because of eleven blood' they said. Hard to believe though, considering he had 10 children."

"Why is that hard to believe?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

"Well, if he was so badly deformed, why would any woman have wanted to go near him, much less have 10 kids with him," Jaskier shrugged, coming up just long enough to wipe from sweat from his brow and dive back in. "Besides, I think it's a crock of shit anyway. I've met elves, they're all beautiful and graceful. How could all that beauty and grace make something ugly and twisted?" Yennefer decided staying quiet was best. When Jaskier reemerged, he saw the dark look in her eyes and sighed. "You know someone like that, don't you?"

"Me," she said with a nod. "Before my enchantments I was hunchbacked and broken because of elven blood."

"Liar," he scoffed, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. But when he saw how greasy his fingers were, he pulled back. "I could never see you as anything but beautiful."

"All the result of magic, I'm afraid," she said with a sad chuckle.

"No," he replied, shaking his head in amusement. "A pretty face is nothing without a pretty soul. And a beautiful soul makes a gorgeous face like yours. So there." He felt a wire slipping and had to stick his head back in the piano, so he didn't get to see the gentle blush that came to her cheeks.

* * *

"Geralt."

"Oh leave him, he doesn't care."

"I think he would if he misses this. Geralt wake up."

"Leave him be, Yen. Please."

"Not on your life. Geralt! Get your arse up or I swear by the gods you will regret it."

There was a hand shaking his shoulder and Geralt's own shot up to grab it. Gold eyes snapped open to meet annoyed violet and he realized it was Yennefer trying to wake him. He pushed her hand off and shook the sleep from him. How had he managed to sleep like that anyway? Looking around he saw there were only a few people around even though it should have been the busiest time of night for a tavern. There was a cough and his attention was brought back to the Yennefer and Jaskier at the piano. From the way they were glaring at him, it looked like it was ready, they were just waiting for him to pay attention. So he sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and gave the bard his undivided attention.

Jaskier sat down on the bench once again, cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck, and took a deep breath. His hands were actually shaking as he lowered them onto the keys. He took a few more steadying breaths, but didn't find himself calming at all. Here he was about to play a piece of history. It hadn't counted earlier when it was broken. Now if he'd done his job right (which he was sure he did, his perfect pitch ensured the piano was exactly in tune) the piano would play just like it had back when Shuberette first made it. What if he messed up? It'd been years since he played piano properly, what if he wasn't as good at it as he remembered? What if-

A strong hand on his shoulder cut him off from his worries. He looked up to see Geralt and his usual half smile giving him all the encouragement that he needed. Jaskier took another breath and started to play.

The song was a soft and gentle melody that stirred something deep within everyone that listened. Something old and beautiful came to life in that song. It made one want to weep and laugh at the same time. It was a strange feeling, especially for Geralt. He looked to Yennefer, who looked similarly affected, and held out his hand.

"If you're willing to risk a crushed toe or two," he muttered, looking down at his two left feet instead of her.

With a giggle (and actual _giggle_ , gods Geralt loved that noise) she took his hand and followed his lead onto what was clearly a dance floor. He started a simple dance, probably the only one he knew, and he wasn't terrible. Not nearly as good as the other couples that joined them, but not terrible. The tone in the music shifted to something calmer and slower and it made everyone in the room breathe a little easier. As Yennefer spun back into his arms he just looped his arms around her waist and held her close, swaying with the music instead as he pressed his forehead to hers.

"Can you feel it, love?" she asked, her eyes slipping shut as her arms snaked around his neck. "There's magic in this music."

He replied with a deep hum. "From that ancient piano."

"Not just that, from _him_ too." Both sets of eyes flicked open to where Jaskier was playing. His usual shit eating grin had been replaced by a serenity that neither knew what to do with. "I doubt he even realizes it."

"Are you telling me Jaskier is a sorcerer?" Geralt asked, the disbelief clear in his voice. He'd been traveling with the bard for years now, if Jaskier was magic, Geralt would have noticed.

"No, he's a bard," she replied with a small laugh. "But I've read about the magic of bards. It's not unsimilar to sorcerers, but the only conduit they have is their art. It's trained into them at that College so subtly most bards never even know they're doing it." Geralt just hummed again, his eyes slipping shut as he enjoyed the sound of the music and the feel of the woman he loved in his arms. It was a wonderful moment… "You need to apologize."

Moment over. "Why?" he snarled.

"You really hurt him earlier, mocking his story like that. Go apologize," she insisted, twining her fingers into his long white hair.

"And if I don't?" he asked, leaning into her hands. He regretted it when her hands pulled sharply on his hair from the roots.

She leaned up and whispered in his ear, "You'll sleep alone tonight."

How is it that after only a few short months together she already knew right where to hit him? He'd grown quite fond of falling asleep with a person on either side of him, so much so that he found it difficult to do so without them. So he swallowed and nodded, turning to see Jaskier finishing up the song to a round of applause from the assembled crowd. There were now many more people here than before, all drawn to the tavern by the music. Before Geralt could pull the bard away, someone in the crowd asked for a jig. Jaskier was more than happy to oblige and, moving father down one side of the piano, started up a jaunty tune.

* * *

It was several more hours before Jaskier had finally said enough for one night. It wasn't because he was tired, oh no, he was so thrilled to finally be playing this piano he would have played all night if he could. That was the problem, he couldn't. His shoulders and neck were sore, his back ached, he'd lost feeling in his ring and pinky finger on each hand, and his legs were screaming to be stretched. The moment he stood, Geralt was right there, grabbing his arm and guiding him up to their room for the night. Once inside, the witcher locked the door and started stripping Jaskier of his clothes.

The poor bard was baffled. Rarely did his music entice Geralt to ravishing him. In fact most times his music just got him ignored or yelled at. He couldn't understand this behavior at all. Then Geralt was pushing him towards a fresh, steaming bath and it all made sense. It had taken Jaskier the better part of the first 3 years of their relationship to figure out all of Geralt's languages, especially his apology language. After all the words 'I'm sorry' didn't exist in the witcher's vocabulary, but he made the sentiment clear in other ways.

With a smile, Jaskier lowered himself into the bath and let the warm water relax his aching muscles. His eyes slipped shut and he listened to Geralt's movements in the room. They were soft but strong, nothing frivolous in his steps or his motions, everything calculated and measured. It was one of the things he loved most about his witcher. Nothing was wasted, not even bits of energy on extra steps. The only exception was when he started washing Jaskier's hair. He took care to massage the bard's scalp not just to clean it, but to relax it as well. And good thing too, because the poor brunet had been feeling the beginnings of a migraine.

When he was done with his hair, Geralt's hands moved down to massage Jaskier's neck and shoulders. Jaskier actually let out a soft keen as strong hands kneaded away all the pains from the day's labors. He would never know how Geralt got so good at giving massages, but he'd be damned if he didn't love them. Every knot was worked out with the same care and attention until every muscle in his back was so relaxed Jaskier could slip into the tub and lose himself. From his back, Geralt moved down his arms and knelt down first next to his right hand. Jaskier was expecting one of those orgasmic hand massages, the ones that Geralt begrudgingly gave him that those damn fingers fell asleep, but instead he felt an ointment being poured on his palm and a sting of pain went through it. With a hiss he pulled his hand away was inspected it.

Piano wire was sharp, but Jaskier was so used to it that he didn't feel it anymore, nor did he feel when it cut into his hands. Looking at them both now, his poetic mind likened all the slices to his hands being put through a meat mincer. With a gentleness that betrayed the witcher's usual aura, he took the bard's hand again and started to rub the ointment in while also massaging the feeling back into the two numb fingers. Then he took a length of cloth and diligently wrapped up his hand, making sure that every cut and scrape was covered before repeating his task on the left.

Hands and muscles taken care of, Geralt finished rinsing Jaskier's hair, making sure very sud was gone before helping his boyfriend out of the tub and into a thick, warm towel to dry off.

That had been almost all of Geralt's apology languages packed into an hour and a half of pampering. He must have felt really bad about insulting him earlier. So while Geralt mussed the towel through Jaskiers hair, the bard got up on his top toe to place a quick kiss on the witcher's nose.

"I forgive you," he whispered, dipping down to capture those chapped lips in a chaste yet tender kiss. The pressure was returned in an unspoken 'thank you' and Jaskier felt his heart soar. Those first few years had been rough not knowing all these languages, he was glad he was now fluent in them. It made loving this witcher all the easier.

And by the gods did Jaskier love Geralt.

Jaskier tilted his head a bit, moving his lips against Geralt's until they were locked in an intimate kiss that made the bard's heart pound in his ears. How did this emotionally stunted witcher manage to intice such a reaction from him? It was love, plain and simple. It was all the answer Jaskier needed as Geralt's tounge pushed past his lips and joined his in a lazy dance, his hands caressing up and down Jaskier's still damp back. Usually Geralt just devoured him, leaving him a sweaty, panting mess long before they even got into bed. Gods even just thinking about the way Geralt destroyed him between the sheets made his cock stand to attention, yearning for the feeling of being filled to bursting by the witcher. But Geralt kept going slowly, gently, something that Jaskier hadn't really seen out of him before. He let the bard take the lead, Jaskier pressing demanding kisses down his jaw and neck while he stripped the witcher of his shirt. Before his hands could start on the ties of his trousers, Geralt was pushing him towards the bed, urging him to sit as he pulled the towel off and tossed it across the room. Cold air hit Jaskier's skin and he shivered, not realizing his boyfriend had gotten down on his knees before he felt kisses on the inside of his thigh.

Oh. That's what this was. Jaskier belated realized that Geralt hadn't finished his apology when he felt the witcher's lip wrap around the head of his cock. Of course, Geralt was a dominate through and through, more likely to demand a blowjob than give one and Jaskier was a sub happy to oblige. The last words in his apology language was giving up control in bed to his sub. That was only used when he felt particularly awful about something he did, which wasn't often.

Jaskier wondered what Yennefer said to him to make him feel _that_ guitly.

Geralt's mouth wasn't what you would call skilled, but it was hot and strong, and it melted Jaskier into a whimpering mess within minutes. His fingers were knotted into Geralt's hair, guiding him up and down his shaft as a wet tongue pressed against that sensitive vein. He was so enraptured that he hadn't even noticed Geralt had been oiling his fingers until he pushed two inside Jaskier with little resistance. The bard had been trying to stay quiet, well aware of how thin these walls were and how many eyes had been on them when Geralt had pulled him away from the piano, how many people could hear him. But the sudden intrusion made him cry out to the heavens, his fingers tightening in white hair to what he was sure would have been a painful level for a normal human. In response, those fingers inside him curled _just right_ , hitting his sweet spot in exactly the right way. He hadn't even realized he'd been so close until he was coming hard into Geralt's mouth, groaning the witcher's name over and over again until he was completely spent.

When his body stopped shaking, and Geralt let go of his cock with a wet 'pop', Jaskier chanced a look at his lover. Geralt's pupils were blown so wide there was barely any gold left, his hair had been well pulled out of it's tie and stuck up at odd angles, and a little bit of Jaskier's cum dribbled down his cheek. The bard did the only sensible thing and bent down to lick that trail up until his lips were connected to Geralt's again in another lazy kiss.

"My turn," Geralt growled into the kiss.

Jaskier didn't have much time to react before he was being lifted up and thrown onto his back on the bed. Geralt was on top of him in a second, hooking one of his legs over his shoulder and pushed his entire member inside the bard all in one smooth motion. Gods above as much as he liked being taken care of, having Geralt mercilessly pounding into him was what he loved most. The witcher was unrelenting, his large hands gripping thin hips so tightly they left bruises every time. Though that night was especially rough, perhaps Geralt was trying to reassert his dominance in the relationship, but Jaskier didn't mind. All of that strength being directed right at him was driving him wild. He no longer cared how loud he was being, the only people that existed in that moment were him and his witcher. He was clinging to the larger man, blunt nails scraping along Geralt's back while his ankles dug into his ass with every thrust. Jaskier was the vocal one of the group, obviously, but that night even Geralt's lips were loose and moans and grunts flowed from them freely. The bard felt him changing angle so his cock would hit his prostate and Jaskier almost screamed in pleasure. He could feel himself coming undone again and he could tell that Geralt was close as well. So he clamped down as much as he could and he felt Geralt's entire body shudder before he released inside his bard, the two coming together in a litany of swears, moans, and whispered names.

Cuddling wasn't really a thing that Geralt did, but it was absolutely a thing Jaskier did. So when Geralt rolled off him so he wouldn't get crushed, Jaskier rolled with him and snuggled right into the warm, strong side of his witcher lover. Geralt just draped an arm around him and let out a contented sigh. Jaskier twined their legs together, Geralt did nothing to stop him. Jaskier peppered light kisses over his lover's chest, Geralt pet his hair. The affectionate give and take was how they always ended sex, ever since the beginning, and it was nice for Jaskier to know that it continued even with the addition of Yennefer. He was glad Geralt still wanted him after all this time. He was glad that nothing had changed.

"I love you," Jaskier muttered, snuggling in closer as his eyes fluttered shut. He was exhausted, and not just from sex.

"Hmm," came the deep reply, followed by a kiss to the top of Jaskier's head. No need for translation there as Jaskier drifted off into a warm and happy sleep.

* * *

_AN: Hope you all enjoyed! I'll be back with new chapters soon. I have a lot of ideas and a lot of stuff touched on in this chapter that I want to expand on. Also if anyone wants to volunteer to Beta for me, I would appreciate it a lot. <3_


	2. Here's Your Fucking Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt learns the hard way that when Jaskier gets mad, he gets nasty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: And here's the second installment! This takes place long before Musical Interlude, soon after episode 3 in the series. The song in this chapter is "Here's Your Freaking Song" by Bowling for Soup. It's hysterical. Go listen to it and enjoy!

If there was one thing Jaskier hated, it was cold weather. He didn’t like layering, he didn’t like shivering, he didn’t like being in a place where the air hurt his face. While he liked scarves and hats as fashion accessories, he loathed them as survival necessities. So when winter came to the continent, he tended to head south so stay warm.

On the other hand, Geralt liked winter. Well, as much as a Witcher can like anything. New monsters popped up that only came out with snow on the ground or when things froze over. There was more work, so he tended to go more north into the colder parts of the continent. By the end of winter, his purse was always full.

This caused a fundamental problem when Jaskier and Geralt started traveling together and winter was around the corner. So they came to an agreement. They would stay together around the middle of the continent until Jaskier couldn’t take the cold anymore, then they would go their separate ways, picking a spot to meet up again in three months time. By then the snow would be gone and, while it might not be warm, it wouldn’t be the freezing temperatures that Jaskier so despised and Geralt’s work would have slowed down enough for him to be comfortable leaving the far north. 

It was a reluctant parting for both parties. Geralt had just gotten used to Jaskier being around and the first night apart, he found the silence disturbing. In fact the entire three months he couldn’t quite get over the fact that it was so quiet. Often times he’d find himself looking over his shoulder to see Jaskier’s reaction to something, or bracing himself for a quick witted comment that would never come. He’d never admit it, but he missed his bard. That’s why when the time came for them to reunite, Geralt decided to arrive early just in case.

Early proved to be a good idea as he rode up to the inn the marked as their meeting spot as he heard the familiar tones of Jaskier’s singing. It was as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders when he heard that voice and he egged Roach on a little faster. When he dismounted, he just shoved the reigns into the stable boy’s hands instead of stabling her himself. He couldn’t tell what had come over him, but he needed to see his bard again. Too many nights had he been plagued with nightmares of Jaskier’s broken corpse on the side of the road with a monstre hovering over him ready for dinner. That’s why he threw open the doors to the tavern, heart pounding in his ears, gold eyes frantically searching for the undoubtedly garish doublet. 

When he didn’t see a bright color, he panicked for a split second, until his hearing returned to him and he followed the sound of Jaskier’s voice to the far corner of the tavern where a small stage had been built. He was wearing a plain brown doublet and sleeves, no wonder Geralt hadn’t spotted him right away. Everyone else in the tavern had turned to see the witcher, stopping meals and drinks in fear, but Jaskeir hadn’t stopped singing, he just locked eyes with Geralt and gave him a wink before turning his attention back to his audience. Geralt had learned long ago not to interrupt him in the middle of a set, so instead he ordered food and drink from the bar and sat down at a table near the stage.

Just being near the bard again eased a knot in his belly that Geralt hadn’t realized was there. For so many decades it had been just him traveling the continent alone, but in just 9 short months this annoying little shit had become such an important part of Geralt’s life that he didn’t feel whole without him. It was an odd feeling and he wasn’t sure he entirely liked it.

It only took another minute for Jaskier to finish his song. When he did, he announced he was taking a short break, put down his lute, and bounded over to Geralt with all the energy of a new puppy. Geralt braced for impact and Jaskier threw his arms around Geralt in what he was sure the bard thought was a crushing hug.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” Jaskier whispered, a sniffle clear in his voice as he buried his face in Geralt’s shoulder. “I honestly thought you’d ditched me.”

“I’m a week early,” Geralt grumbled, awkwardly patting Jaskier’s head.

“What planet are you from that two weeks late is one week early?!” Jaskier barked back, pulling back enough to look Geralt in the eyes. The WItcher was genuinely shocked, and Jaskier could see that, so his tone softened as he asked, “What kind of trouble did you get into?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Geralt replied, his tone implying a promise. His eyes drifted over Jaskier’s shoulder as he added. “You have company.”

Jaskier turned, and sure enough a woman in a brillant dress was striding over. He was on his feet at once and Geralt could see his fight or flight response kick in as he did so. But the woman was too quick, wrapping both arms around one of Jaskier’s and nuzzling her cheek into his shoulder. With a deep breath and a forced smile, he turned back to Geralt.

“Dear, this is the Witcher I told you so much about, Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier started. Geralt noticed a tenseness to his shoulders and furrowed his brow. “Geralt, this is Helga, Countess de Marke.”

Geralt already had a beer at his lips, and he was going to give his usual, dismissive ‘Hm’. Until the countess spoke in the most high pitched, squeaky, nails on a chalkboard voice he’d ever heard. “So nice to finally meet you, Geralt of Rivia,” she said, holding out her hand for a kiss, ignoring the fact that her voice just made Geralt choke on his beer. “My fiance has only ever sung your praises. Quite literally.”

“Fiance?” he coughed, shocked to hear that word in reference to Jaskier. Not just that he would be getting married, but that he would be marrying  _ her. _ Something inside Geralt twisted at the thought and he bit back a growl. 

The bard opened his mouth, but Helga cut him off. “Yes, we’re to be married in a few days,” she said, squeezing his arm tighter. Geratl’s eyes flashed to Jaskier, who turned green at the very idea. “Oh I can’t wait! I have a gown being made, my daddy is paying extra to make sure it’s done in time. It’s going to be completely encrusted in pearls! Head to toe in pearls and diamonds~ I’m going to look like a queen when I walk down that aisle, you know. It’s only going to be the best of the best of the best when I marry my handsome Jules, isn’t that right my darling? Do you like what he’s wearing now, Witcher? I picked this out myself. I think it matched his complexion better and it lets his eyes pop, not like those awful clothes he used to wear. He doesn’t want to admit that his life has already been improved by the touch of a woman, but that’s a man for you really. I’m going to make sure from now on he’s only the most fashionable person in the entire continent! People are going to style themselves after--”

“Dear please, Geralt’s had a very long ride, I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear about fashion.” Jaskier tried, his voice so exhausted that Geralt was sure this isn’t the first time he’s had to stop this woman was talking someone’s ear off. 

“Who doesn’t want to hear about fashion? It’s so important!” she exclaimed, turning back to Geralt before Jaskier could stop her. “Though I suppose I understand why my precious Jules says that. I mean look how you’re dressed! All black and chain mail? Oh no, dear Witcher, that went out of fashion decades ago. Don’t you worry, any friend of Jules is a friend of mine, and any friend of mine will not be seen in public wearing out of fashion attire!” Geralt opened his mouth to tell her it’s more like a uniform than fashion, but she continued before he could. “I could see you in dusty blues. Yes that would match your eyes! Dusty blues and pastels. Oh! And perhaps paisley patterns. I think that would work, you have the right complexion for paisley patterns. Not like my Jules, no he can’t handle patterned fabric. He--”

“HELGA!” It was the first time Geralt had ever heard Jaskier raise his voice, and he found it disconcerting. But the bard looked exhausted, fed up, and angry. Even Helga looked a little shocked and it seemed she was about to start talking when Jaskier quickly said, “Why don’t you start designing Geralt a new wardrobe? He has very little imagination, he needs visual aides to really understand what you’re saying.”

“Oh yes, of course, you’re right!” Helga cried triumphantly, letting go of Jaskier’s arm. “He’s always right because he’s so smart, you know. Highly educated and from just the best stock. It’s a wonder he’s stayed single so long, having such a big brain and a sexy voice and a huge--”

“Go, Helga, don’t waste anymore time, lest the ideas slip away like last time!” Jaskier prompted, grabbing her shoulders to physically turn her back to the table and he gave her a gentle shove away. She skipped away gleefully and Jaskier just collapsed next to Geralt on the bench, slumping over until his face was in his hands and his elbows on his knees. “Not a bloody word.”

“By the gods there are two of you,” Geralt breathed, finding that Helga had stolen all the air from the room in her tirade. She was more overwhelming then Jaskier was when they first met. At least Jaskier allowed someone to get a word in edgewise.

“I said not a bloody word,” Jaskier hissed, the venom in his voice tainted with exhaustion.

There were so many questions spinning around in Geralt’s head that he didn’t know where to start. He found there was one that encompased most of it, though. “How?”

“Fuck if I know,” Jaskier muttered, throwing up his arms in defeat. “I just gave her the same smile I give everyone else and she got it in her head that was a proposal. She’s fabricated the entire thing. I’m at my wits end. I can’t do anything about it because she has three very scary older brothers who will murder me if I do anything.”

Geralt hummed, nodding as he thought. “Jewels?” he asked, arching his brow. The nickname seemed… out of place. He wasn’t even sure he heard it right.

“She started calling me that because she said my eyes shine like jewels.” That was a blatant lie, but Geralt wasn’t going to press him. In fact he could tell by the bard’s smell most of his explanation was a lie. Humans had a certain scent when they were lying. Jaskier so rarely lied to him that he felt the bard must have a good reason. He’d let the truth come out when he was ready. Suddenly Jaskier shot up, the shit eating grin that Geralt had come to know plastered on his face. “Wait. I have an idea. You’re here now. You could stop her brothers from killing me.”

By habit, Geralt wanted to tell him he wasn’t going to get involved. But just hearing that woman made him take pity on his bard. And the idea of him marrying her made his stomach turn. Actually the idea of Jaskier marrying  _ anyone _ made his stomach turn and he wasn’t sure why.

“Fantastic! I hope you weren’t planning on spending the night here because as soon as I finish this song, we’re going to have to run.” Jaskier was rubbing his hands together as he thought, looking very much the evil genius. Geralt had in fact been hoping to spend the night in a nice bed, but removing his bard from his situation took precedence over his comfort. Besides, there was always another inn.

“Let me eat first,” Geralt said with a nod as he tucked into his plate. Jaskier just grinned wide as he sauntered back onto the stage, picked up his lute, and began another ballad.

* * *

Jaskier was at least considerate, waiting not just until Geralt finished, but also giving him time to digest before he shot the witcher a wicked grin and turned towards his fiance.

“My dear, he began, clipping a kapo onto his lute, “For ages you’ve been asking me ‘why don’t you write me a song?’ And I'm like ‘I don't know, I'm not inspired to write you a song.’

But last night, I decided I'm gonna freakin' do this.”

Jaskier started to strum the intro bars and Geralt knocked back the rest of his beer, both anticipating and dreading the coming lyrics.

_ “We've been together for so long _

_ And you always asked me why I never wrote a song _

_ All about you, about our love, _

_ And about how you're the only one I'm thinking of _

_ I've been writing all night _

_ And I _

_ I got it just right! _

_ Here we go! _

_ You talk too much _

_ You never shut up! _

_ Everything I do for you is never enough _

_ You snore, you drool, _

_ You talk in your sleep _

_ Won't get a night's rest until you're six feet deep _

_ I promised you forever _

_ But we both know, _

_ We're never gonna get along _

_ You want it, you got it _

_ Here's is your fucking' song!” _

Geralt was so glad he already finished his drink, because otherwise it might have come out his nose. He’d never expected those kinds of lyrics to come out of his bard, who usually over ever sang of pure love and lust and adventure. He stole a look towards Helga, who was in such shock she was completely silent. She just stared at Jaskier, open mouthed and gaping as he continued.

_ “And all my homies have always said, _

_ What you doing with that girl? She's fucked up in the head _

_ My mom don't like you, my dad don't too _

_ And my brother says you look like guy from Hüsker Dü _

_ I'm just keeping it real, this is _

_ Just how I feel _

_ Here we go _

_ You talk too much _

_ You never shut up _

_ Everything I do for you is never enough _

_ You snore, you drool, _

_ You talk in your sleep _

_ Won't get a night's rest until you're six feet deep _

_ I promised you forever _

_ But we both know, _

_ We're never gonna get along _

_ You want it, you got it _

_ Here's is your fucking song!” _

Jaskier finished the last measure and lowered his hands, looking right towards his lady. The entire bar had been rocked into silence. There wasn’t even an applause. Geralt’s hand was already on his sword, energy coiling in his core and a rune on his hand, ready to jump up and defend his bard. After a tense minute, Helga shot up, tears streaming down her face.

“HOW DARE YOU?!” she screeched, making everyone in the bar cover their ears from the shrill noise. “My daddy will hear about this!”

“Go ahead! Tell you dad all about it, I”m sure he’ll be completely confused!” Jaskier snapped back, passing his lute off to a young boy, who ran off with it and the case. Geralt had seen him running back and forth from the upper floor to the stables with Jaskier’s things.

“What are you talking about?!” she screamed, getting right up in Jaskier’s face. He was still a head taller than her, but that didn’t stop her. “He’s coming tomorrow for our wedding!”

“Don’t you get it, you stupid bitch, he’s not coming. There’s not going to  _ be _ a wedding!” he screamed back, his face darkening in a way that Geralt had never seen. He was truly angry.

“Of course there is, he’s having my dress made! He promised me in his letters!”

“ _ I wrote those letters! _ ”

“ _ But I wrote him back! _ ”

“ _ And I stopped them from getting to the postman! You’re a self-aggrandizing cunt and I will  _ **_never marry you!_ ** ”

The smack that Jaskier received for that echoed in the quiet bar. It snapped his head to the side so fast that he had to rub his neck. Helga was ugly crying now, her entire face red, her eyes were puffy, and both nostrils were running. Jaskier didn’t give her a thought, he harshly shoved past her and walked straight for the door. Geralt was on his feet in a second and followed closely behind.

“My brothers will kill you for this!” she yelled after them in one last desperate attempt to make him stay.

“They’ll have to get through me first,” Geralt replied, slamming the door shut behind him.

Roach and Pegasus were already out and ready to go. The men mounted quickly and took off down the road, the shouts of angry men following after them.

* * *

It wasn’t hard to outrun Helga’s brothers. After all, Geralt and Jaskier had gotten quite the headstart on them, not to mention the two had no problem darting off the main roads and into the forests. By the time the sun set, they were certain they were well in the clear. Jaskier had remained extraordinarily quiet the entire ride, perhaps out of fear that his voice would draw the brothers right to them. A wise move, Geralt realized, as they rode through the woods and he saw a few monsters out of the corner of his eye. The kind who don’t attack unless provoked, and Jaskier’s voice would have absolutely provoked them. Geralt was about to suggest bunking down for the night, until Jaskier spoke for the first time in hours. It almost made Geralt jump.

Almost.

“There’s another inn about an hour if we keep in this direction,” Jaskier said, drawing Pegasus neck to neck with Roach. “I’ll pay for it. I feel bad. After traveling all that time and I made you run out of the inn like that…”

“Worth it,” Geralt huffed. He glanced over and saw the horrified look on Jaskier’s face, he clarified, “Seeing the look on her face during your song. Worth losing a bed for the night.”

“Did you like it?” Jaskier asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“As much as any of your songs,” came the short answer. He’s been vocal about his distaste of Jaskier’s music, and he saw his bard deflate a little bit. Geralt would never tell him that it was the thing he missed the most in the three months they were apart. Speaking of the time they were apart… “I was fighting a striga.”

“Who and a what now?” Jaskier asked, shaking his head out of a funk as he dug in his saddle bag for his journal and pen. “Start from the beginning?”

And so Geralt told him about his adventure in Temeria with King Foltest and the striga. For Jaskier’s benefit, he added as many details as he could. He knew Jaskier would just make up stuff anyway, but at least this way it wouldn’t be complete horseshit. Geralt explained that he thought he had only been unconscious for a few days after this battle, but Triss must have kept him in an induced sleep much longer than he thought. Of course this led to the inevitable ‘didn’t you ask someone for the date?’ question from Jaskier and Geralt just ignored it. He didn't want his bard to know that upon waking he rode as fast as he could south, mostly taking back ways and cutting through forests, basically avoiding civilization all together because it always slows him down. There was no one to ask on his travels. Not that he needed it, he thought he was a week early.

Maybe he should have stopped by civilization.

There was no point lamenting about it now. Geralt sank a little farther into his saddle as they continued their ride. It was silent for only a few minutes while Jaskier pondered over lyrics before pulling out his lute and singing a new ballad. As expected, he exaggerated and made up most details to make the song more epic. He glossed over the story of Foltest and Anna, trying to save face for the king in case he was ever called to sing in the Termerian court. The witcher found this amusing, more than he usually would. He was enjoying being back with his bard.

His bard. Geralt wasn’t sure when he’d begun referring to Jaskier as ‘his bard’, but he found it didn’t sit ill on his tongue. Chancing a glance, he saw Jaskier staring up at the darkening sky, lost in thought. Slender fingers were still poised over the lute he’d been strumming just a second before, stilled only as he thought up a new stanza. It was a wonder the things Jaskier’s face did when he was thinking. His brow scrunched up when he was trying to remember a word. His left eye twitched when he was having trouble with a tune. His nose flared when he couldn’t remember a melody. His tongue poked out of his mouth when he was on the verge of a break through. At that moment, his eye was twitching and his tongue was poking out, so he was trying to figure out the tune to the next part of the song and almost had it. Geral watching in anticipation. He’d never tell Jaskier, but he looked forward to each song, each line, each note that came from those fingers and those lips. They were all treasures that Geralt held close to his hardened heart.

How was it that this loud, annoying, in your face, pesky little bard had wormed his way there? When had he managed it? Much like it did nothing to lament over being late, Geralt figured there wasn’t much he could do about what was in the past. He now had to make sure that his bard didn’t get any closer.

“What are you staring at?”Jaskier’s voice roused him from his thoughts and he found he’d gotten lost in thought while looking at the bard. Now those sparkling blue eyes were boring right into his, searching for an explanation.

“You have dirt on your cheek,” Geralt lied swiftly and easily as he trotted ahead while Jaskier frantically rubbed at his face to remove the phantom stain.

* * *

The inn was hopping when they arrived. People were bustling and drunk, even though it had only just turned evening, and Jaskier planned to take full advantage of it. He all but launched off Pegasus upon arrive and ran into the tavern with his lute at the ready. He began singing almost as soon as he was through the door, getting the already excited crowd riled up into a fervor. Just a few epic ballads of Geralt’s adventures (and a few choruses of ‘Toss a Coin’) and his lute case was overflowing with the generous coin of the bar patrons. During this time, Geralt only rented a room for them, secured a meal, and watched with the height of amusement as Jaskier played off the crowd and they played to him. If Geralt didn’t know any better, he’d say that Jaskier had enchanted the entire bar just to keep praising him. 

After a few hours, Jaskier came down from the stage and plopped right down next to Geralt, taking a few cold potatoes from his plate and motioning the barmaid over. She sauntered over, her volumtious bosom spilling over her bodice to entice any barfolk for the night. When she leaned over Jaskier, Geralt found his hand twitching to shove her away. Jaskier just leaned with her, a finger twirling around her hair and guiding her down so he could whisper in her ear. Geralt found a growl forming in his throat that he swallowed back down. He wasn’t intoxicated enough for that kind of behavior. So instead he turned away and downed the rest of the beer, covering his sight with the bottom of his mug. He heard her walk away and chanced a glance at Jaskier. The bard was eating the leftovers off his plate, more consumed by his meager meal then the fact that he was practically in Geralt’s lap to get to the plate. The witcher enjoyed the proximity so much that he didn’t bother moving the plate closer. Infact, he mustered a weak sign and the plate slid farther away. Not too far as to startling him, but far enough to make the brunet scoot closer, until he was nestled into Geralt’s side to finish off the last of the potatoes. Before Geralt could make a quip about him being hungry, the barmaid returned with a fresh plate of dinner and two mugs of beer. She gingerly set the food and one beer down in front of the bard and all but threw the other beer at Geralt with a sneer. Then she placed herself full in Jaskier’s lap with a lusty grin, barely giving the poor bard a chance to react before she was placing a heated kiss to his lips.

Seeing that stirred an anger in Geralt’s belly that he’d never felt. It was a sickening feeling that sent a cold spike down his spine and pain in his chest. Never in his life did he want to rip apart a human with his bare hands but seeing that  _ slut _ on  _ his bard _ made him--

The woman froze in her ministrations and pulled away, as if in a daze. Jaskier’s eyes were boring into hers, his lips fluttering lightly in a semblance of speech, and she got up, her limbs stiff as she walked away. Once well out of sight, Jaskier scrubbed his mouth on the back of his hands and took a long swig from his drink before spitting it into an empty bowl nearby. As if realizing for the first tim that Geralt’s eyes were on him, he turned towards his friend with a lopsided grin and a shrug.

“Occupational hazards.” He waved his hand dismissively, like it was a perfectly normal thing to have happen, and tucked into his meal.

WIth a huff, Geralt turned around on the bench and leaned against the table, taking in a full view of the inn. Now that the night had worn on, most of the drunkards had fallen asleep on tables or left to stagger home. He felt bored, with no contracts, no heading, and nothing to wake up for tomorrow, he went up to the barkeep and got a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses before returning to the table. He put the glasses between them and filled them both in silent offering. Jaskier gladly took his and raised it high.

“To reuniting,” Jaskier toasted with a broad grin. Geralt just hummed. Jaskier clinked their glasses together for him and took his shot.

It was difficult to get a witcher drunk, the mutations saw to that. After all, these men, at their core, are still just as phallable as humans, so the creators decided to remove one temptation. The last thing anyone needed was a hammered Wticher armed to the teeth and possessing such arcane magic that it could kill someone with a swipe of his hand. This went double for Geralt, whose mutations went so far above and beyond what’s normally done that it was near impossible to get him drunk. Jaskier seemed determined to do just that.

The bard went shot for shot with him until several bottles had been emptied. Geralt was sure that by then Jaskier would have passed out drunk, but he looked like Geralt did, none the worse for wear and raring to continue. Now just as Jaskier saw it as a personal challenge to make his witcher smashed, Geralt needed to see what Jaskier looked like when he was black out drunk. He’d seen the bard tipsy, all hips and eyes and flirting with everything in sight. Everything except Geralt. He wasn’t jealous, just wondering what in Jaskier’s inebriated mind made him avoid turning those attentions onto him. Maybe because he, like everyone other human with sense, knew deep down Geralt was a monster, and a brain with no inhibitions to the contrary made him just as afraid as everyone else. 

What a dark turn his mind had taken. When he first imagined Jaskier blasted, he imagined all the bard’s usual flirting turned up to a 10. That shouldn’t have bothered him. It shouldn’t have stirred that same feeling as earlier when the maid sat in his lap. He shouldn’t  _ care _ .

But he did.

Jaskier must have seen the dark look in his eyes because the bard opened his mouth to start rambling. Geralt didn’t hear it. All he heard was his heart pounding in his ears as he looked at that disgusting brown doublet the bard still wore. It was a constant reminder that his bard could be taken from him and he needed it  _ gone. _ WIthout a word, he grabbed Jaskier’s hand and dragged him up the stairs, ignoring his whines about leaving good alcohol on the table, and threw him into their rented room. With only a second to steady himself, Geralt was on him, grabbing the collar of his doubet in a death grip and a snarl on his face.

_ ‘This is it’ _ Jaskier thought, turning his eyes towards the ceiling.  _ ‘He’s going to kill me.’ _ With a gulp, he said out loud, “Listen, I know we’re both pretty drunk but if you can do me a favor and 

leave my face alone, I’d like to be pretty at my funeral.”

His words made Geralt still for a moment. What must he look like right now that his bard thought he was going to die? His drunken brain wasn’t cooperating, he couldn’t will himself to change his course of action. Unbidden, his hands moved for him, and his voice spoke without his consent.

“You’re  _ mine _ ,” he growled, ripping down the front of that  _ ugly _ doublet. Buttons flew in every direction. Gods above the fabric didn’t even feel nice. Rough and stratchy, not even something Geralt would wear when he was on the balls of his ass. “Not some countess’,” another tear, this time down the back, “not some bar maid’s,” a sleeve went flying, the closures leaving angry red marks where they scraped Jaskier’s skin, “no one else’s.” The other sleeve now, this time leaving welts where the closures were pulled against his arm and then broken. “ _ Mine. _ ” The last shreds of the doublet hit the floor and he took a step back to admire his work and. Besides his bard being flushed and breathing heavy, Geralt saw that under that repulsive doublet, Jaskier had worn a baby blue shift.  _ That _ was the color that brought out his eyes, which were now glowing as he straightened himself and smoothed down his shirt.

“Gods above, Geralt, give a man a warning before you ravage him like that,” Jaskeir joked, running his hand nervously through his hair. That was certainly the last thing he expected to come out of the witcher’s mouth, drunk or not. He caught Geralt’s eyes and even hammered, he knew that look so very well.

That  _ was _ the warning. And Geralt wasn’t done with him yet.

Neither of them were sure who moved first. The following moments were a bit of a blur and the next thing either of them really knew was that their lips were locked in a passionate kiss. There was nothing gentle about it, it was all gnashing teeth and fighting tongues, and Jaskier quickly lost the battle for dominance and melted into Geralt’s arms. The witcher’s hands smoothed down his back before cupping his ass, squeezing and lifting him slightly into the air. Jaskier got the hint and wrapped both  _ incredibly _ long legs around Geralt, grinding their hips together in a motion that made both men moan obscenely into the kiss. 

They were both far too drunk to care that what they were doing might affect their relationship. All they cared about was the growing need in their bellies as they kissed and touched and groaned and writhed against each other. Jaskier was the first to break the kiss, blue eyes locking onto gold. It was a steadying moment as they both caught their breath. 

“Geralt,” he breathed, his voice hoarse and husky. It made Geralt’s already tight pants almost burst. “Geralt… Gods, Geralt…” His name continued spilled from the bard’s lips, growing more lustful with each iteration until Geralt growled with need. That snapped Jaskier from his chant, and he refocused his eyes on his witcher. “I’m yours?”

“You are  _ mine _ ,” Geralt purred, leaning forward to nip on Jaskier’s lips.

“Then lay your claim on me, make me yours,” Jaskier breathed, rolling his hips again to make Geralt hiss. “Please, Geralt, I need you so badly.”

“Hhmmmm I like it when you beg,” Geralt hummed, walking over to the bed and throwing Jaskier down none too gracefully. 

“I want you to kiss me,” Jaskier began, as though it was licence to keep talking. He sat up, pushing on Geralt’s chest before he could mount the bed. Instead Jaskier’s hands went to the buttons on his shirt and undid each one with deliberate slowness. His fingers were deft despite his drunken state and for a moment Geralt wondered if the bard had been faking his stupor somehow. “No I  _ need _ you to kiss me. Ravish me with your mouth and leave marks all over my body. Let anyone else who sees them know that I belong to the mighty Geralt of Rivia. I want you to take me, all of me, fuck me so hard that if anyone doesn’t hear the bed shaking they’ll see me bowlegged tomorrow and everyone will know.” His shirt is gone now, and Jaskier begins to unlace his trousers. “Gods, Geralt, I want marks on my body that won’t go away for weeks. I want to be reminded whom I belong to every time I see them in a mirror. I need you like a drowning man needs air. I will do anything you ask,  _ anything _ , to be taken like I’ve imagined a hundred times in my dreams.”

“Anything at all?” Just the thought of Jaskier having wet dreams about him made Geralt release a primal growl. He gave the bard a wicked smile as his trousers were pulled down and pushed Jaskier to his knees. “Suck my cock first and we’ll see if you’ve earned more.”

Jaskier mirrored his smirk and nudged Geralt’s trousers down the rest of the way. The way Geralt’s hips bucked, he was sure his witcher was impatient to start fucking his face with a rock hard cock that was already standing at attention, but Jaskier wasn’t going to give in so easily. After all, this was his work to earn his reward and he was going to work hard. So he nuzzled his cheek into Geralt’s thigh, pressing quick kisses to the inside before running his tongue up the femoral vein. He felt Geralt shiver and grinned. He continued to press more feather light kisses around his groin, avoiding his cock and balls until a growl from Geralt’s throat made his grin wider. So he pulled back his head to admire Geralt’s body, taking in every inch. He was jealous, the witcher was devoid of body hair, so the sweat that already gathered was glistening beautifully in the firelight. It was an intoxicating scene, and Jaskier quite forgot his teasing. He placed a gentle kiss to Geralt’s leaking member before taking the whole thing in his mouth.

Now, Jaskier wasn’t religious, not by any stretch of the imagination. But the way his tongue worked around Geralt’s member, the way his cheeks hollowed when he swallowed, the way his lips created a beautiful suction, it was like his mouth was worshiping him. Every twist and lick was a prayer and his god was Geralt. The witcher chanced a glance down and watching his cock disappear inside Jaskier’s mouth was driving him wild. He brought a hand down to grab a fistful of chestnut hair, enough to keep him steady, as he started to callously fuck his mouth. He felt the bard’s hands grip his hips, felt him gag and whimper around his cock, but he couldn’t bring himself to care because  _ gods in heaven  _ he was so close. Damn this bard and his talented mouth. It took a skilled whore hours of their best to get him off and in a few minutes this bard was going to have him almost spent. He pushed deep and felt himself hit the back of Jaskier’s throat and that was it. He came with a loud groan, his useless seed spilling down Jaskier’s throat and making him choke. Geralt held him there until he was finished, his fingers going lax in his hair as he took deep, steadying breaths. The poor bard had to yank Geralt’s limp hand off him so he could release himself from the witcher’s cock, leaning back on his heels and doubling over to cough and gag. 

Looking down, Geralt saw his bard on his knees, his cum dripping down his chin as he tried to regain his breath. The sight made Geralt half hard again. But he noticed Jaskier still had all his clothes on and that was just unacceptable.

“Strip, bard,” Geralt commanded, regaining Jaskier’s lustful attention. “I’m not done with you yet.”

That had Jaskier scrambling to his feet, pulling his shift over his head and tossing it aside. Geralt licked his lips wontanly as he watched Jaskier undo his trousers with lust-filled eyes. Aware of golden eyes boring into him, Jaskier decided to give his witcher a show. He swung his hips as he hooked his thumbs around the waist, pulling it down a couple inches, just to tease his soon to be lover with the dip in his hips. But Geralt wasn’t having any of it. He grabbed Jaskier’s trousers and tore them right off the bard’s body. He ignored the indignant whine that came from the brunet and swallowed it in a passionate kiss as he pressed their naked bodies together. Electricity sparked between them as Geralt eased them onto the bed, not breaking their kiss or the sweet contact between them. The witcher leaned back just enough to look at his bard, red face, sweating, out of breath and keening for more.

Who was Geralt to deny him. He dipped his head down to Jaskier’s neck and pressed an open mouthed kiss at the junction of his jaw, a motion that made Jaskier moan and cling to his witcher. He tongued the spot, earning a few more mewls before he bit down hard. This elicited a cry, half of pain, half of pleasure, as Geralt sucked and bit on the sensitive flesh. He kept up until Jaskier was almost crying and let go with a wet pop. It was already turning colors. Geralt grinned. It was in a spot where even his highest collars wouldn’t cover, and it was sure to be there for weeks, just as requested. 

Maybe next time he’d leave more marks on his bard, but for now he just wanted to be buried to the hilt inside him. So he stepped off the bed to fetch a bottle of oil he kept in his saddlebag. While he dug in the pack, he glanced back at his bard, who was leaning up on his elbows to watch. This was the first time Geralt had seen Jaskier’s body properly and almost forgot what he was doing. Under all those fancy clothes, his bard was stronger than he looked. He could see soft skin pulled tight over compact muscles, the kind you’d seen on a swimmer or a dancer. It left Jaskier lithe and skinny with legs for  _ days gods he wanted those legs locked around his hips-- _

His hand found his prize as his fingers closed around the bottle of oil and in two large strides he was back at the bed, crawling on top of his breathless bard and capturing his lips into another desperate kiss. This was much like their first, a distraction to keep his bard pliable while he poured some oil on his fingers and circled one around the bard’s entrance. It earned a mewl from the brunet that egged him on, and without much fanfare shoved two fingers inside him. Jaskier’s cry of pain made him still, and he looked upon his lover’s face to see it scrunched in pain or a moment before he let go of the breath he was holding and grabbed Geralt’s face.

“I don’t need you to be gentle,” Jaskier growled, “I need you to fuck me as hard as you can.”

Geralt let out a low chuckle at that, and it sent a shiver down Jaskier’s spine. “Are you sure about that, little bard?”

Was he? He’d seen Geralt’s strength on the battlefield, he’d seen the whores he bedded when they were done, he’d heard the stories, he knew full well what this man was capable of. Did he really want all that strength and anger pointed directly at him?

“Gods yes,” Jaskier breathed, pouring the oil on his own hand and stroking Geralt’s member, getting it nice and slick and ready. “Please, Geralt,  _ please _ , don’t make me wait anymore. I need you.”

“Need what?” Geralt asked, slowly pumping his fingers inside the bard. It’s not that he didn’t want to answer his bard’s need, the tight heat around his fingers was  _ so _ enticing, but he liked listening to him beg. “Use your eloquent words, little bard.”

“Shit, I want your cock to fuck my asshole till I bleed! That eloquent enough for you?!” Jaskier’s frustrated voice cried out as he flopped onto the bed, scrubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“Careful what you wish for,” Geralt purred, pulling his fingers out. Jaskeir whimpered, trying to buck his hips up but Geralt’s strong hand kept him firmly on the bed. 

There had been enough waiting. Need pulled at him, and Geralt hooked one of Jaskier’s legs over his shoulder, bringing the other to wrap around his hip. It was all the warning his bard got before Geralt thrust himself inside, ignoring the pained whine of his lover and burying himself fully inside that tight,  _ delicious _ heat. He didn’t give Jaskier any time to adjust, wasn’t going to be gentle, and started an unrelenting pace as he slammed into his bard over and over and over. He felt more than heard the screams ripped from Jaskier’s lips since his own heart was pounding so loudly in his ears he couldn’t actually hear anything. But he could see Jaskier vibrating and shaking beneath his onslaught. It egged him on to do more, to  _ ruin _ this bard with his cock. And there Jaskier was, taking every inch, every thrust, and still he reached out or Geralt, to pull him closer, wanting to feel his entire body pressed against him. Geralt was happy to indulge him, leaning over his bard until their chests were pressed together and they moved as one, gasping and moaning together, their breaths mingling together.

It was all terribly intimate. 

Thankfully Geralt didn’t have a chance to linger on that thought. He felt his climax coming fast, and from the look on Jaskier’s face, he wasn’t far behind either. Amazing, Geralt thought, what this bard could do to him. He wormed his way into his life and now his bed and he’d be damned if he was going to let him leave now that he’d had a taste--

He came far too fast, too hard, and felt Jaskier clench and quiver around him as he followed. Geralt’s world went white, and then black.

* * *

Geralt woke first, the sun streaming right into his eyes and rousing him from a gentle slumber. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so well. The bed was warm, his body was relaxed, but there was something digging into his armpit that he didn’t like. When he looked over to see what it was, he froze in place. His rising had been so easy that the memories didn’t return until he saw Jaskier’s peaceful face still asleep and nuzzled into his chest. It didn’t explain what was digging into his armpit, but he could almost forget about that as he pushed a bit of hair out of his eyes and traced a finger down his jaw. Jaskier was handsome, there was never any doubt, but something about seeing him like this, after everything, he looked almost ethereal. And there they were, and Geralt was warm, and the thing in his armpit wasn’t so annoying anymore, so maybe he could slip back to sleep for a while longer.

Jaskier didn’t get hungover. Most days it was a blessing, but this morning it was a curse. He woke up slowly, praying for a blasting headache that he knew would never come. Part of him didn’t want to remember the night before, but it all flooded back unbidden as he lay there and took stock of himself. He could feel Geralt’s arm wrapped around him, he was laying on the witcher’s chest, and he could hear that slow and steady heartbeat. It almost lulled him back to sleep. But he could feel Geralt’s breathing change and knew he’d been caught. So he opened his eyes and looked up, blue caught into gold in a second. 

“Morning,” Geralt muttered, his voice low and raspy, that ‘I just woke up’ voice that Jaskier had come to know so well. Usually it was telling him to shut up. He liked this change.

“Mmmm,” Jaskier groaned, nuzzling into Geralt’s chest once more. He considered playing hungover and blacked out, but he knew his witcher would see through it in an instant. “Five more minutes?”

“Five more minutes,” Geralt nodded, closing his eyes again. But that stinging was getting annoying again, so he tried to see what it was. Jaskier’s head was blocking the way, but he saw a glint of a silver chain around his bard’s neck. Had that always been there? He reached over, realizing it was the pendant that was annoying him, and pulled it around the chain so he could see what it was. It was a tiny little marigold etched into a round silver plate. Odd, Geralt never thought Jaskier one for frivolous jewelry. Frivolous clothing, yes, but jewelry not so much. He felt something on the back of the pendant and flipped it over. The rune of Mannaz was etched into the other side. “What’s this?”

“A trinket,” Jaskier huffed, reaching up to take it from Geralt’s hands and away from his sight. “Should we talk… about last night?”

“What about?” Geralt asked, amused.

“What does it mean? Anything? Nothing?” Jaskier shrugged, his tone aloof. Really he was putting his heart on the line and hoping that Geralt didn’t stomp on it.

“It means…” Geralt started, flipping Jaskier onto his back again, “that now I’ve a taste of you, I’m going to want another every night.”

A surprised giggle got drowned in a kiss and the two rocked together as the kiss turned heated. Jaskier knew this was a bad idea. Sooner or later he was going to get hurt. But for now he was going to enjoy this. Not every day he got to fuck to a witcher. Because that’s all this was. Just sex. 

It didn’t matter that Jaskier had fallen in love the first moment he saw Geralt. 

* * *

_AN: I hope you all enjoyed~ Feedback is appreciated. And I wouldn't say no to someone volunteering to be a Beta for me. <3_


	3. Blade Singers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt’s not scared of Jaskier, he’s scared for him.  
> Takes place shortly after Musical Interlude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I know that technically blade singing is a wizard only thing in DnD... But it really should be a bard thing. Also thanks so much to my wonderful beta TheOneandOnlyElla here on AO3. I'm considering making a spotify playlist of all the songs in this fic. Yay or Nay?

It was a quiet night, relatively. The fire was crackling, the forest animals were scurrying, and Jaskier was playing his lute. There were no lyrics, just a lovely melody that filled the night air. Yennefer was on the opposite side of the fire from Jaskier, nuzzled into Geralt’s side as he stoked the fire up. It was a nice night. Geralt was content, his lovers hadn’t argued in a few days or fought over who got to cuddle him in bed. He might actually get a decent night’s sleep. Maybe he could finally get them to have the threesome he desperately wanted to try. The thought made a gentle smile come to his face.

“Can I ask you a question?” Yennefer asked suddenly, looking straight at Jaskier over the fire.

“Didn’t you just?” he asked back, wiggling his eyebrows. She rolled her eyes. “Shoot. What’s on your mind?”

“As a bard of the College…” she started, extracting herself from Geralt’s arm to dig something out of her saddlebag. She returned a moment later, this time sitting closer to Jaskier with a book and a pen. “Did you ever study Blade Singing?”

And he was having such a nice night. They didn’t notice Geralt freeze in his spot. He knew what Blade Singers were. They were a specialized type of bard trained in healing and combat magic. Time was a platoon of soldiers wasn’t complete without a Blade Singer. They had songs that wove healing magic around the soldiers, but they were primarily fighters. With a specialized blade, they sang songs that allowed the blade to act independently of its master, functionally having a sword with no bearer fighting on the field. They were a dangerous thing.

“I did actually,” Jaskier said with pride, puffing up his chest a little as he set down his lute. “Though I only took a couple semesters of it. I wanted to declare it as a minor, but I wasn’t any good at it so I dropped and focused on composing instead.”

No no no _ nonono. _ That isn’t what Geralt wanted to hear. He’d fought a Blade Singer before, shortly after he set out on The Path. It was something he would never forget.

“Tell me everything,” Yennerfer said with glee, her pen eagerly twitching. “I only read about them. I have a professional curiosity, you know.”

Geralt didn’t want to hear any of it. He didn’t want to hear how Jaskier explained that Blade Songs are complicated, convoluted, and unique to each Singer. He didn’t want to hear about how he’d crafted his song primarily for self defense. He didn’t want to hear about how each part of the song, the tempo, the melody, the key, the words, all controlled a different aspect of fighting. He didn’t want to listen to any of it. He wanted it to be a bad dream.

The Blade Singer he fought still haunted his nightmares. Her bloodlust had run so high and so strong that she’d Sung her Blade into sentience. Eventually the Blade possessed her and forced her onto a killing spree that had spread over most of the south. Geralt had been sent to stop her. When he finally found her after weeks of tracking, he found a corpse that had been killed ten times over already, but betrayed by her own healing song. Her Blade was forcing her to sing her healing song enough to keep her body walking and her song singing. He had to decapitate her, carve out her vocal chords, and burn them to make the song stop.

The image of that shambling corpse singing a broken and discordant song never left him. It didn’t let him sleep properly for  _ months _ following the fight. The song still played in his worst nightmares. It was shortly after that incident that Blade Singers went out of favor with armies. They would pop up every now and then, usually as mercenaries or assassins, but none that needed a Witcher to hunt them down.

“I’d love to see a demonstration,” Yennefer said, her eyes sparkling. That shocked Geralt out of his stupor, gold eyes flashing to look desperately into blue that didn’t glance in his direction.

“I don’t think so,” Jaskier said with a nervous chuckle. “I haven’t practiced in years, I don’t even think my Blade is sharp anymore, and I told you I was never good to begin with.”

“You have your Blade on you? Can I see it?” If Geralt wasn’t so terrified of the idea, he would have thought Yennefer’s excitement was cute. She almost bounced as Jaskier went into his saddlebag and produced a long knife in a leather sheath. He passed it gently to her, and she drew the silvered blade. Even from across the fire, Geralt could  _ feel _ the power that had already been sung into it. It frightened him. “And you made it yourself?”

“It’s all part of the training,” Jaskier explained. “A Blade made by you is more likely pliable to listening to you. Other blades can be sung, but they’re more stubborn.”

“Fascinating,” she breathed, looking up and down the blade with fascination. “I really want to see a demonstration.”

“I’m not really… I don’t have a sparring partner.” A lame excuse as Yennefer’s eyes darted to Geralt. “Always better to see a swordsman work with a sparring partner and there’s none here so--”

“Spar with Geralt,” Yenneer suggested, a smirk on her painted lips. “No better swordsman on the continent to demonstrate on.”

“No.” Geralt’s tone suggested an end to the conversation and Jaskier looked grateful.

But Yennefer didn’t let up. “Oh come on, you can’t be frightened of a bard with no skills.”

Oof. That was a low blow to both of their egos. Jaskier puffed up his chest defensively, as if to refute that he did in fact have skill. Geralt just scoffed the deepest scoff he’d ever scoffed in his life. There was no way he was afraid of  _ Jaskier _ . But he was frightened for his boyfriend. Terrified, in fact, that he’d end up like that Blade Singer he had to fell all those years ago. His eyes locked with Jaskier and his bard looked resigned. They knew Yennefer wasn’t going to relent and they shared a deep sigh.

“I’ll go easy on you,” Geralt huffed, grabbing his steel sword and standing stiffly. He didn’t want to do this, but maybe if they gave Yennefer the demonstration she was badly wanted they wouldn’t have to go for long. 

His bard only nodded, took his Blade back, and stood to face Geralt in the clearing. He reached down and grabbed the dagger from his boot, flipping it in his hand so he brandished the pommel instead of the edge. Geralt figured a long knife and dagger were perfect weapons for this lithe and sneaky little bard. Jaskier dropped into a semi-competent knife fighter’s stance and started to sing.

Geralt almost missed Jaskier’s first attack when he heard the song. It was  _ so similar _ to the one the other Blade Singer sang. It was all Geralt could do to snap himself from his stupor and block the Blade that went for him. Damn it, Jaskier was  _ fast. _ So fast, in fact, that if he was a normal human, Geralt was certain he wouldn’t have been able to keep up. But as it was, he was a Witcher, and could follow Jaskier’s movements, albeit with a little difficulty. The bard managed to keep himself constantly behind Geralt, right in the Witcher’s blind spot, while his Blade remained in front of Geralt at all times. The two moved in perfect synchronicity, switching places whenever Geralt spun around. He felt the pomel of Jaskier’s dagger come down on him a couple of times in places that, if it had been blade first, would have been very bad wounds.

The longer the fight went on, the more Geralt was glad Jaskier never volunteered his Blade Singing in battle. While his technique was solid, there was little strength and zero confidence behind his blows. He wouldn’t have been able to fight this way with a monster, and he knew of none that could be felled with a dagger or a knife, no matter how quick. A dark part of Geralt realize that Jaskier had a very good base knowledge, and with some training could become a good warrior. Then coming on these hunts wouldn’t be so dangerous, he could even help Geralt. That’s what Blade Singers did anyway, they stayed back in safety while the Blade when into battle. It could wo--

Suddenly the song changed and Geralt was snapped back to attention when he felt a blade drag over his arm. He’d been distracted, he let the Blade get past his defenses but it was Jaskier’s dagger that had struck him. The blade end, not the pomel end. An icy chill went down his spine and he turned slowly. Jaskier allowed Geralt to turn, stayed where he was instead of flipping around back to his blind spot. Geralt’s blood ran cold when he saw his bard’s face. It was the same face as that Blade Singer, the same bloodlust in his eyes. In a flash he realized why Blade Singers went out of favor. Something about the Songs turned these people bloodthirsty. That was the look on Jaskier's face as he lunged forward, ready to stab Geralt right in the heart. Instinct took over at that point, and Geralt backhanded his broadsword, whacking the flat of his blade against Jaskier’s temple. It was enough to knock him to the ground and end his song. The Blade dropped to the ground and Geralt knelt before his bard, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him up till their noses touched. Jaskier was still a little stunned and could only blink stupidly as he was manhandled.

“Do not  _ ever _ do that again,” Geralt growled. Jaskier shook his head, like he was trying to understand, but his ears were probably still ringing. Geralt huffed and stood, grabbing the Blade from the ground. Cursed thing. Geralt wanted to snap it, but he was sure Jaskier would never forgive him if he did. So he snarled and threw the blade down, turning back to his lover as he did. This bard who was still on the ground dazed, who had become  _ so damned important  _ to Geralt that he didn’t want to see him end up like that corpse. He didn’t want to have to be the one to kill him. “Do you understand me?! NEVER AGAIN!”

The shout made both his lovers jump. So rarely did Geralt raise his voice. Yennefer slowly closed her book and went to help Jaskier off the ground. She looked like she regretted ever bringing it up. 

As for Jaskier, he stumbled to his feet. His head was pounding and ringing, he couldn’t quite remember what happened. One second he was sparing, the next Geralt was yelling. But he didn’t want to be in this woman’s arms, this woman that he despised. Groggily he reached for Geralt, straining to be with the one person who made him feel safe. Yennefer wasn’t expecting him to lean away so when he took another step towards Geralt, she couldn’t hold him upright. He pitched forward, too dazed to stop himself from falling. 

He felt something warm and blacked out.

* * *

The sun was gentle on Jaskier as he woke up. His temple was throbbing, and as he reached a hand up to it, he felt a large goose egg. Damn it. He didn’t remember getting drunk, he didn’t remember getting high, he didn’t remember much. Fuck. He groaned loudly as he stretched and felt pain all up and down his body. A large, warm hand rubbed his back and Jaskier belatedly realized he’d been laying on his stomach. How out of it was he that he didn’t even realize that? An arm was hanging off the bed and he pulled it back under the covers, leaning into the hand on his back. 

“How are you feeling?” he heard Geralt whisper, and hummed happily at the voice.

“Like fucking shit,” Jaskier muttered, rolling onto his side so he could press his back into Geralt’s chest. He loved being the witcher’s little spoon and it seemed Geralt was happy to oblige him. His arm wrapped around his bard’s waist and pulled him close. “Mmmm You’re so warm, Geralt. Please don’t let go.”

“I’m not letting go,” Geralt said with a chuckle, nuzzling his face into the juncture between his bard’s neck and shoulder. He pressed a soft kiss there and frowned a little. “How’s your head?”

“It hurts. What happened?” Jaskier was half asleep as he asked his question, but forced himself awake as he felt his lover stiffen. “Ger? What happened last night?”

With a deep sigh, Geralt retold the tale from the night before in hushed tones. In even lower ones, he told his bard all about the Blade Singer he faced all those years ago. He told him about how much it frightened him seeing Jaskier fight like that. The entire time Jaskier listened, his fingers trailing over Geralt’s hand and arm in nonsensical patterns that he knew the witcher liked. Enough of a touch to let him know Jaskier was there, alive and well and with him, because there were too many times where he almost wasn’t. When Geralt’s story was over, Jaskier turned over so he could face the love of his life and pressed a loving kiss to those perpetually chapped lips. 

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Jaskier hummed, his voice low like Geralt’s was, not breaking the spell of peace that had fallen upon them.

“I don’t want that to happen to you.” Geralt’s voice was pleading and Jaskier kissed him again, long fingers tangling in the long white locks. “Promise me you’ll never do that again.”

“I promise,” Jaskier said with a nod, nuzzling their foreheads together. “Never again. I’ll get the Blade melted down next time we pass a blacksmith.”

“Thank you.” Geralt pressed a loving kiss to Jaskier’s forehead. Jaskier heard that language loud and clear. It was an obvious ‘I love you’ from the man who would never be able to get the actual words out. 

“I love you too,” Jaskier whispered back, a bright smile on his face as Geralt’s eyes lit up like the sun. For a moment he wondered what he’d done to deserve such a perfect man.

And then Geralt was kissing him, softly, tenderly, wrapping strong arms around his bard and easing him onto his back. Jaskier let out a soft sigh and wrapped one leg around Geralt's hips. A brief glance to the left confirmed that Yennefer was still asleep, her back to them, and a smirk came to his lips. She hated it when they had sex when she was still in bed and usually he complied with that. After all, he wouldn't want to be in bed when they were fucking, watching that one time was bad enough. But that morning he didn't really care. In fact, he wanted to rile her up. They'd been getting more vicious with each other lately and he wasn't backing down. Besides, Geralt was so strong and warm above him and Jaskier was so  _ eager _ for his touch. Geralt had been drifting away from him and sleeping more with Yennefer, which is probably why the two were arguing so much. 

The feeling of Geralt's cock at his entrance snapped him from all thought of Yennefer. Jaskier was so relaxed that Geralt was able to slip in easily. They rocked together, muffling their moans and sighs with soft kisses, their hands running lazily over each other like they had all the time in the world. And maybe they did. There in that tent, with the sun muted by canvas, the world quiet in the early morning, they were the only people that existed. It was in these moments that Jaskier believed that everything would work out  _ so peacefully _ . That he and Geralt might actually have a life together. That they could live together. Even raise his Child Surprise together as their own. Geralt was being so gentle with him, so loving, so  _ intimate _ that Jaskier was sure his witcher really did love him too.

Climax surprised both of them, coming long and slow together, not the usual short and explosive endings they were used to together. It was all gentle and strange, but Geralt found himself liking it all the same. He nuzzled into the crook of his boyfriend's neck and breathed in his scent. Not just sweat and sex, but underneath that, lavender oil that he put into his hair, the rosin he rubbed into his lute that rubbed off on his face and neck every time he touched there, and a musky bergamot that was all his own. Lavender, rosin, and bergamot, a combination unique to his love and his love alone. He heard Jaskier mutter an incantation in Elder, something Yennefer taught him, and they were clean. 

“Are you both done?” Yennefer’s groan broke the spell they were under and both men looked towards her with tired eyes. She looked back at them with hate in her tired purple eyes. “That was disgusting to watch.”

“Then next time turn your back,” Geralt said with a lazy grin.

Jaskier chuckled, Yennefer glared, and Geral rolled his eyes, Back to normal once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time, but the next couple will be quite a bit longer, I promise! Again, Spotify playlist? Yay or Nay, let me know!


	4. Compulsions and Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt made a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made the Spotify playlist, I will put the link at the bottom of the text. 
> 
> This takes place right after episode 5. Thanks to everyone who is reading, liking, favoriting, kudo-ing, following, and bookmarking this story. You guys give me strength!

Geralt liked being clean. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he preferred being clean over dirty. As a child he was compulsive about it, always washing his hands and digging dirt from under his nails. In training that compulsion was removed from him, but it popped up again every once in a while, only when he was truly nervous. In the close to ten years the two had been traveling together, Jaskier noticed that true nervousness a grand total of two times. Still, the lovable idiot made sure to at least get a washbasin and fresh soap whenever they got an inn for the night, if not a full bath for his beloved witcher. 

The two had just left Rinde a month ago and, per Geralt, avoided civilization for the most part. He was even more broody and irritable than usual so Jaskier indulged him this oddity. When his boyfriend was in a bad mood, keeping him from humanity was generally a good idea. It was why Jaskier found it odd that one day Geralt veered them straight back onto the main road. They trotted in silence most of the day (relative silence as Jaskier strummed mindlessly on his lute) until the bard noticed a sign for a bath house. Gosh being pampered in a bath house sounded so good. Their purses were still full and Jaskier was sure he’d be able to stir up some extra coin should they need it. 

“Geralt look!” Jaskier whined, pointing towards the sign with a waving hand. “A bathouse! Geraaalllttt.”

“What?” The witcher stopped and turned in his saddle to see the sign. He didn’t look…  _ not _ happy with the idea. “They’re expensive.”

“My treat then!” Jaskier exclaimed with a grin. “My lovely Countess was an incredibly generous patron. I can afford to splurge on my very smelly but still excruciatingly handsome boyfriend.”

Without giving Geralt a chance to protest, Jaskier was off down the path whistling a merry tune. Geralt just shook his head and followed with a soft smile on his face. He still didn’t remember  _ when _ exactly they’d decided their relationship with more than just sex. It had just sort of happened. They’d been in an inn and Jaskier was talking animatedly to one of his bardic colleagues and the word ‘boyfriend’ just slipped out. Neither had caught it and it wasn’t until they were settled in their room after another round of mind blowing sex that that word had caught up to them. They didn’t have a discussion, per say, Geralt was never one for conversation, but he didn’t correct Jaskier and didn’t offer another word, so  _ boyfriend _ stuck. 

Geralt would sooner cut out his tongue than admit that he liked it.

The bathhouse was large, a repurposed castle that Geralt could  _ feel _ the magic running through. It was still early spring and a winter chill was threatening to creep back onto the continent, so the warmth of the bathhouse was a very welcome change. Even in reception, the air was thick with steam and scented oils. Geralt almost regretted it as his senses were assaulted by all the smells and herbs and potions and nonsense. Were a monster to attack, he was almost sure he wouldn’t sense it until the beast was upon them. Not a great thing for a witcher. He turned to Jaskier, about to drag his lover out, but when he saw the exacted look on his bard’s face as the hostess explained the packages, he deflated. Jaskier had left the warm comforts of the south and generous and loving patron in the Countess just to come north while it was still cold to get attacked by a djinn, watch Geralt almost die, and then be sequestered from people for more than a month. Guilt crept into his thoughts when Yennefer’s face popped up in his mind and he relented to letting his beloved have his night of luxury.

They were shown to a room and from there given directions to a private bath, being told it would be ready and waiting for them. Everything was luxurious, from a soft, thick,  _ large _ bed with silken dressings, to a roaring fire set with a fur rug and a wine red chaise lounge, to windows with gossamer drapes that went almost floor to ceiling that overlooked an expansive and colorful garden. 

“What do you say to a power nap and then the baths?” Jaskier asked, rousing Geralt from his musings as the bard stretched in front of one of the large windows. “Yes a nap. That’s what we need. A nap in that chaise lounge, what do you say? Maybe I’ll open a window and we can have a breeze. Oooh but it’s cold. Wait we can throw a blanket over us. That would be lovely. Doesn’t that sound lovely darling?”

When Jaskier turned to Geralt, arms still stretched over his head, blue eyes sparkling, and a bright smile shining on his face, it melted a little more of the ice around the witcher’s heart. He gave Jaskier a soft and gentle smile as he grabbed the blanket off the bed. The grin on the bard’s face grew as he cracked open a window and allowed a brisk spring breeze into the room that fluttered the curtains. Geralt laid down first, his open arms an invitation for Jaskier to join him. His bard wasted no time and curled right into his chest, nuzzling up until his head was tucked under his witcher’s chin and he could hear the steady slow beat of his lover’s heart. The blanket was tossed over them and the two were enveloped in a cozy warmth. It was easy to slip into a light sleep.

* * *

Over the years of traveling, Geralt had gotten very good at timing his naps. He had to be when he was exhausted from hunting a monster and  _ needed _ to sleep but didn’t have a lot of time. He trained himself to wake up exactly when he wanted to, so it was of little difficulty to wake himself after an hour’s nap. He found it more difficult, however, to find the will to extract himself from his lover’s arms. He didn’t want to wake Jaskier from his obviously peaceful sleep, but he also knew that if he  _ didn’t _ wake him, he’d never hear the end of it. So he started fethering kissing over his love’s hair and face to rouse him. It was moments like these, in the quiet, just the two of them,  Geralt usually felt the most at peace. When everything was warm and content, Jaskier’s questions about witchers retiring and wanting things rattled around in his head. When the bard had asked, there wasn’t anything more to his answer then what he gave at the time. But now? Now, nearly a decade into their relationship, Geralt wanted so much more than he’d ever comfortably admit. 

The bard’s eyes fluttered open, bright blue searching out for gold as they shook off the haze of sleep. He was greeted with a tender kiss and a soft sigh and wandering, lazy hands. Geralt pawed a hand through his lover’s hair, pushing the chestnut locks out of his face as he cupped the back of his head and tilted it just enough to gently break their kiss. The whine that left those beautiful lips almost made Geralt want to capture them again and ravish him right there on the sofa. But he was eager for the baths and he knew his lover was too.

“Come now, my little lark, didn’t you want to bathe?” the witcher asked, nuzzling in his boyfriend’s hair. That earned him a nod and he felt his boyfriend’s body curl and contract as he stretched the sleep out of his muscles. 

“Mmmm oh that’s right the baths,” Jaskier muttered, pushing the blanket down a little bit and taking a deep, sighing breath. “Just five more minutes, please.”

Geralt nodded and they stayed cuddling for a few more minutes, the whole time a rising feeling of bile making itself known in the witcher’s gut. When he felt the bard drifting back off to sleep, he finally roused him and got both of them up. It was a short walk down the hall, down a flight of stairs, and into a new wing of the building. This area was filled with steam and smells and noises. Gearlt heard so many noises. Running water, people talking, people making love, people arguing… Only Jaskier’s hand holding his kept him from running. Before he knew it, his bard was opening and door and leading Geralt into their private bath.

It was beautiful. Just like the gardens he’d seen outside, the bath looked more like a miniature lake than a bath. It was set into the ground, surrounded by well worn stones and flowers. Even the bath had water plants in it to keep it filtered and clean. It all smelled so wonderful and  _ overwhelming _ that Geralt wasn’t sure he could take much more. This whole place was an assault on his senses that he couldn’t quite take. He felt Jaskier stripping him, pressing feather light kisses on his body as he did so.

Then he was being lowered into the warm bath water and his senses were no longer assaulted. It was as though a switch had been flipped and the moment he dipped below the water’s surface everything stopped, all the noises, all the smells, all the  _ feelings _ , everything. The water was nice, it cocooned him. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed his eyes until he opened them and saw Jaskier sitting across from him  _ on the other side of the pool _ , flicking water around with his fingers. The bard’s elbows were propped up on the edge as he flicked water and tutted, batting something around in his head. Geralt found there was a seat carved into the walls of the pool and sat, searching out soap and a brush.

“So,” Jaskeir started, his voice low, not looking Geralt in the eyes as he spoke. That didn’t sit well with the witcher as his hands closed over the jar of soap. “Yennefer.”

That name made Geralt stop. His senses were assaulted again as he dragged the bottle forward and poured the liquid into his hands. “What about her?” he growled, not wanting to speak of the witch when he wanted to relax.

“Should we talk about her?” Jaskier met his eyes and Geralt could see the unspoken question there.  _ ‘Should we talk about you fucking her?’ _ They hadn’t spoke about her at all since they left Rinde and Geralt didn’t  _ want  _ to give his boyfriend an explanation even though he  _ deserved _ one--

So instead Geralt countered with, “Should we talk about the Countess de Stael?”

“Touche,” came the half aggravated response. Because they’d never talked about their relationship, never decided if they were exclusive or not, and it certainly hadn’t been their first winter apart and wouldn’t be the last but-- “She was lovely. Comely face, decent sense of humor, she actually liked my songs” Geralt felt that hit his heart and his comment of a fillingless pie came to the forefront of his mind “and paid me generously. But she was  _ needy _ Geralt, I mean  _ really needy _ . We’d fuck and as soon as she’d come she’d start demanding songs. I mean I had no want for material and not all of those songs will ever see the light of day but it was annoying. I was glad when I realized winter was over and immediately headed north.”

“You said she left you,” Geralt quipped and Jaskier’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. The bard must have thought he hadn’t been paying attention.

“A lie,” Jaskier said with a shrug. “You looked so distracted I said whatever I could to get a rise out of you. It didn’t work.”

_ ‘Yes it did,’ _ Geralt thought grimly,  _ ‘Just not in the way you wanted.’ _ All the talk of the Countess had raised his ire, and in his already exhausted and sleep deprived mind, he couldn’t handle it. So when Jaskier started making those wishes, he lost it. And he regretted it. Because after  _ ten bloody years _ together they’d never had the adult conversation about their relationship. They didn’t take lovers or whores when they were together and they were always together except during winter they’d never  _ talked _ about it they never had to it was never so  _ in your face _ like it had been with  _ that godforsaken countess and a mage and _ \--

With a horrifying sense of clarity, Jaskier watched his boyfriend’s compulsion return. Geralt must not have noticed that he had taken the brush and was scrubbing his finger nails like he wanted to wash them completely away. He’d watched Geralt do this one before, and the last time the witcher had scrubbed so hard for so long that his nail beds had started bleeding. That led to a whole new round of hysteria that was  _ painful _ to watch. So before it got that bad, Jaskier crossed and the pool and took the brush from Geralt’s hands and tossed it aside before grabbing right hands together and left, crossing them and holding both strong, monster killing paws to the bard’s chest. It forced Geralt to look at him, gold eyes blown wide in the midst of his episode. Jaskier was going to say something to calm him, but Geralt spoke first.

“I’ve made a horrible mistake,” he said quietly, his voice actually  _ shaking _ and Jaskier realised this was important. Geralt never admitted mistakes, he never did it nervously, and it  _ never _ brought out his compulsion before. So Jaskier listened intently as Geralt told him about the djinn and the wish and what he’d done with Yennefer. How the last wish was made in a panic because the room still smelled of that damn lilac and gooseberries that made his head foggy, he wasn’t thinking straight but he couldn’t just let her  _ die _ . Then when they landed in that debauched room and that damnable wish took effect he couldn’t keep his hands off her, even as he saw his love through the window watching with a mix of hurt and horror on his beautiful face. But he couldn’t stop and he was so exhausted when it was all over he just  _ fell asleep _ . The whole mess had fucked him up so badly that he hadn’t found the will to even think about it. Something about this place had the words tumbling in a jumbled mess from his mouth and into his lover’s patient ears. At the end of his explanation, his eyes locked with Jaskier’s as he waited for the bard to say… anything.

It look a long minute of thinking as Jaskier tried to sort it all out. There were so many questions ratling around and Jaskier had to regurgitate it all in his own words. “Let me get this straight,” he started softly, not wanting to startle his boyfriend. “You… bound her to you? That about right? All to save her life but… Why? I don’t understand…”

“She saved your life,” Geralt repeated, physically shaking some sense into his brain. “I couldn’t let her die. I paid my debt.”

“But it’s my life, that was my debt,” Jaskier reasoned, blinking hard a few times trying to understand. “Geralt I still don’t get it. Why--”

“Because you are my life, Jaskier,” Geralt suddenly blurted out, his gold eyes as sincere as Jaskier had ever seen them. “When Chireadan told me you might die I…” 

Now this his confession was out, his body and mind was calming, and words were becoming difficult again. Jaskier shushed him, understanding his unspoken words as well as if they’d been audible. Geralt couldn’t see himself without Jaskier, and sought out the only person around who could save him. He’d heard Geralt promise any price for his life. Perhaps the witcher thought that giving her back her life balanced the books. Perhaps he was right…

“So you’re stuck with her now then,” Jaskier continued, a little more sourly as Geralt nodded. “Any way to break the djinn’s magic?”

Geralt shrugged. “I’m not sure but… There are places I can go to find information.” Jaskier got the distinct impression they’d been on their way to one of those places when he distracted them. It was probably why Geralt had veered them back onto the road. “Please say something about this.”

“Something like…” Jaskier tapered off, unsure of what to say next. For once he was at a loss.

“Anything.” Geralt’s voice was almost pleading.

That’s when it clicked. Geralt wanted to know if he was angry. His face softened into a smile and he pressed a kiss to Geralt’s forehead. “Do you remember the promise we made to each other all those years ago? In that decrepit church, high of succubus gasses?”

A soft sigh and a nod, Geralt remembered that night. It was a little fuzzy, but he remembered. They’d chased a succubus back to her lair in a church that was no longer inhabited. She’d set up traps all over the place, rigged to release a gas designed to relieve someone of their senses. Geralt had managed to kill it before most of the traps went off, so there was only enough gas to give them a really good high. They’d found an old prayer book open to wedding vows and made a game of it. 

“I remember,” Geralt muttered, dropping his forehead onto his love’s shoulder.

“‘I will share his burdens and his happiness, lift him in troubles and in triumphs’,” Jaskier recited the last part of the vows, eyes closed as he too let the memory wash over him. “‘I will say by his side for better or for worse, in sickness and health. For I am his and he is mine, from this day until my last day.’ I meant it then and I still mean it now. If this… wish and this… girl is your burden then let me take some of the weight. We’ll… figure something out. I’m sure of it.” He pressed a kiss to Geralt’s hands still entwined with his own and smiled. “I mean don’t get me wrong, I don’t like the idea of sharing you. You’re  _ mine _ .” The wicked grin on Jaskier’s face stirred something primal in Geralt’s loins. “But if I  _ have _ to, because of this djinn, I want it on my terms. Can you do that?”

“I can do that,” Geralt swallowed, sighing deeply into Jaskier’s shoulder. “Thank you.” There was a short sigh, another pause, and the witcher sucked in a deep breath. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know,” Jaskier said with a nod and a smile. He never got a straight ‘I love you’ from his witcher. It was either unspoken, or in the rare moments when Geralt let his guard down, in the form of the question just asked. It was more than enough for Jaskier. After all, hadn’t he promised not to try and change his love in any way? “Come on, let’s get you clean. Your hair is so dirty a rat tried to make a nest in it last night and no, that’s not a metaphor, there was a real rat and it was fat and ugly. I had to chase it off with a stick.”

* * *

It was so rare for Geralt to get any peace. His life had been a tumultuous mess since his mother abandoned him that he’d entirely given up on the idea of it. Triss had summed up his life well, ‘money and monsters’. But now, sitting in that bathtub with Jaskier settled nicely in his lap, the bard’s back to his chest and his arms around the thin waist, he thought maybe peace was really possible. As his bard traced random patterns into his arms, he wondered what would happen if he went back to Cintra to claim his Child Surprise. Would Jaskier raise it with him? Would he even be happy with a kid? He’d always seemed to love kids whenever they stopped in villages and they would fawn over his lute and his fancy clothes. Perhaps he’d ask one day. There was something more important first…

“It’s quiet in here,” Geralt mused, feeling Jaskier startle. His bard must have been drifting off to sleep.

“I can play something for you,” Jaskier offered, nodding to the harp in the corner. Before Geralt could answer, the bard lifted his hand towards it and muttered something in Elder under his breath. He flicked his fingers and the harp played itself. Geralt had seen him do that a few times, he’d seen a few bards do that, but everytime Jaskier did it was on a new instrument and the love he held for this bard grew.

“I’d prefer it if you sang something.” The harp halted, but not in the proper way that a musician finishes a song, but in that discordant way comes from when the musician is shocked into stopping. Jaskier turned in his lap to give his boyfriend the harshest glare he could muster, which was actually significant. Geralt felt that glare in his soul. “What?”

“You really want to hear something from my fillingless pie? It’s not going to harm your sensitive sensibilities and ruin your peace?” Jaskier asked, the venom dripping down his words and searing themselves into Geralt’s mind. He felt shame rising in his gut and brought a hand to Jaskier’s cheek, stroking it with the back of his fingers and he sighed.

“You could never ruin my peace,” Geralt said softly, trailing those fingers down his bard’s neck and chest. “And you don’t have a fillingless pie… I like the way you sing.”

The soft smile that came to Jaskier’s face made Geralt’s worries soften. His bard leaned over, pressing a kiss to his witcher’s nose. “You know,” he started, turning fully so he could straddle his lover’s lap. “Just saying ‘I’m sorry’ is a lot easier. Two simple words. Even you can muster that.”

Geralt just grunted and grabbed his lover’s ass, sliding him closer into his lap. “Maybe I just like complimenting you,” he hummed, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the bard’s neck. “Especially after I’ve been a brute.” The chuckle that bubbled up from Jaskier’s throat made Geralt arch a brow. “What?”

“You got that from me,” Jaskier giggled, trying to contain his laughter but it wasn’t working. The more he tried to stop, the more chuckles came out. “You never used the word brute and now you use it all the time. You got that from me!”

As his love dissolved into his giggle fit, Geralt just rolled his eyes. He was sure there were more habits and phrases he’d picked up over the years. One day he’d sit down and figure out just how many there were, but for now he just held his bard and laughed with him. 

* * *

_See the Spotify playlist[here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2kNgP9Gth8RN5v4InCJb6T)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short-ish chapter here today guys. I hope you enjoyed! Also, my beta poofed into thin air, so if anyone is willing to volunteer, let me know!


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